


Stop Talking

by Sneery69



Series: Pointless Tumblr Porn Ficlets [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Violence, dubcon, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2485577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneery69/pseuds/Sneery69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley struggled a bit, probably for show, before he put his hands around Dean’s wrists, the gesture almost tender. “Now now, Dean. There’s no need to get this worked up over pining and regret, or is there?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop Talking

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a bit of an experiment in which Galadwen and me both wrote a quick ficlet to the same prompt.

Dean thought that his arrival had been completely silent, but Crowley immediately turned around from where he was standing at the posh liquor cabinet, probably contemplating what kind of overly expensive whiskey to imbibe next. His features were drawn into a smug smirk as per usual, his beady eyes glinting.

“Dean! So glad you could make it. I have news for you, darling.”

Dean could feel the anger already churning in his stomach try to claw its way up his throat, but he managed to hold it back – barely. “I am not your darling, Crowley,” he grit out, taking a step towards the King of Hell.

Crowley only grinned at him, his eyes travelling up and down Dean’s body slowly, suggestively.

“Whatever you’re telling yourself at night, lover boy. Now, to business.” Crowley swiftly turned away, starting to pace. “We have a bit of a fallen angel problem back down in Kansas. I believe that Castiel has something to do with it, although…”

Dean didn’t hear anything after that. There was a loud ringing is his ears, a layer of red swimming at the corner of his vision. He had Crowley pressed against the wall in no time, the power cursing through his veins no match for the King right then. “Don’t.say.his name!”

Crowley struggled a bit, probably for show, before he put his hands around Dean’s wrists, the gesture almost tender. “Now now, Dean. There’s no need to get this worked up over pining and regret, or is there?”

Dean punched him straight in the face, not holding back even a bit. Crowley moaned in pain. “Kinky, Dean. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Dean slammed his mouth over Crowley’s lips, sinking his front teeth into the red skin, brutally biting him before drawing back again, blood on his chin and panting hard. “Stop. Stop talking!” He knew his voice was a wreck, choked and raw from the incredible anger in him.  
Crowley only smirked, apparently satisfied. His teeth were red. “Oh, Dean. It must have been _so_ hard for you! Seeing him, not able to do anything about your urges because Daddy made you into this poor, little, repressed creature that …”

Dean heard himself growling, maybe even howling. He lost control over the situation long ago, Crowley’s training once again biting itself in the tail. He only wanted to hurt, to claim, _to make him shut up._

Dean had Crowley turned around in no time at all, his trousers shoved down just enough to grant him excess. “Why, now you’re just supplanting, Dean,” Crowley laughed gleefully. It was a stomach-turning sound.

The demon blood in Dean’s veins pumped furiously with white-hot fury, and it was no effort at all to direct it downwards into his groin anymore. He didn’t bother with preparation. With anyone else, with… _someone else_ , he would have, but Crowley didn’t deserve such luxuries. 

Dean slammed his hips forward; pressing Crowley harder against the wall with his left forearm and gripping his waist brutally to control his direction. He pressed in relentlessly, ignoring Crowley’s curses, and set up a punishing pace. The part of Dean still aware of these things felt nothing but some kind of phantom arousal caused by the friction against his dick, but the anger, the hatred he felt acutely, like a warm caress against his abused mind. It trickled through him like power, like life. It gave him _purpose_.

Dean fucked like he never fucked, hard and without finesse, until he felt his orgasm approaching. It was mechanical, a flame that felt more like ice than anything else, but was still good, in a detached way. But then, Crowley shifted his head around, trying to catch Dean’s eyes.  
“You gotta imagine him, Dean. It will be exquisite, I promise.” And just like someone telling you not to picture a pink elephant, Crowley whispering these words had the desired effect: Dean, for just a tiny, painful moment, imagined another body under him, pressed against him, writhing in ecstasy instead of pain, moaning, sweating, _wanting_. 

He came with a shout so strangled that he almost choked on it, burying his face in Crowley’s neck while rutting into him desperately. “I hate you,” Dean hissed, and with the last pulse of his dick he bit into Crowley’s skin deeply, ripping out a chunk of flesh.

Crowley screamed and probably came at the same time – Dean didn’t check. He slipped out, rearranged his clothing, and turned his back on the King of Hell. A stupid move in different circumstances, but right then it didn’t matter.

Crowley panted a bit more, but had himself together in no time, too. When Dean next looked at him, he didn’t seem ruffled at all, trademark smirk firmly in place and no blood anywhere near it. “Too many feelings, Dean. We’ll work on it. But right now, back to the problem at hand…”


End file.
